About
From then to now
My journey to crafting words that speak.
Growing up in outer suburban Perth in the 1950's and 1960's was idyllic.
My childhood memories are of after-school time spent with other children, exploring vacant paddocks and creek beds or, during summer holidays, beating the scorching heat by romping under lawn sprinklers. The best-of-all treat came when I rode my bike with my mother and sister into the foothills.
In 1954, a great event happened.
The newly-crowned Queen Elizabeth II — young, beautiful, and fitting my image of a fairytale princess — visited Western Australia. Her motorcade passed by our primary school. Every child sat in the dirt at the edge of Albany Highway for two hours beforehand, ready to smile and wave at the white-gloved hand that tilted, ever so slightly, in our direction.
It was a different world, back then.
But one thing has never changed: my love of books and storytelling, ignited by my mother's long-ago bedtime offerings. Her stories involved a heady mix of Enid Blyton, Peter Rabbit and the sorry end of King Henry's six wives. Those tales were the stuff of my childhood — they broadened my world and fired my imagination.
The spark flickered on.
Although not without challenges, through my school days. For the good nuns of Victoria Square Convent, important dates in (usually British) history, French verb conjugations and the intricacies of algebra and trigonometry defined scholarship. Literature could be risky, and young souls needed protection. At the age of fifteen I wrote a little story, but was too embarrassed to show it to anyone.
University followed.
I graduated from the University of Western Australia with a double major in history and politics. Not a single literature unit found a place in my undergraduate degree, although it was the subject that most interested me. I still ask myself how that happened.
Marriage and career took hold.
So it has taken me until retirement to get around to finishing what I started as a fifteen-year-old. I've written a book. About Venice. It's an environment that couldn't be more different from the one that nurtured me as a child. The city is pancake flat. No hills. No bikes. Venetian children play their games on pavement rather than in paddocks. Only the canals remind me of my young days and my attachment to creek beds.
Each year I spend two months in my Venetian home. But not this year. My heart breaks for Italy, for Venice and for its citizens. Vi siamo vicini con il pensiero.
maracam48@gmail.com